


Little Natblida

by faeriefully



Category: The 100, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Bonding, Mother-Daughter Relationship, been meaning to post this for two years but here we go, clarke is a reluctant but good mother, giving the characters some much needed development, madi is a devil child, obviously Bellarke is implied from part two onward, stories about Skykru, takes place during the first few minutes of S5 ep1, they need each other, we're fixing canon here folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefully/pseuds/faeriefully
Summary: “You’re a nightblood, right?”...“Die fleimkepa!” She aimed for the throat, but the fleimkepa moved, struggling to remove her. The stranger screamed again, and she felt her knife sink into flesh. But not enough.The stranger was still moving when she pulled back, blood staining her knife.Black blood.She pulled back, stumbling away from the stranger.“Natblida…”.o.We're going back to those six years Clarke and Madi spent together as the only people alive on the surface of the earth. Watch as these two nighbloods eventually adopt one another and develop together the relationship canon never bothered to show us.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Madi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Little Natblida

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote the fic that I'd wanted to write the day after I watched "Eden". The writers never want to develop any relationship on this show, so I guess I'll do it. The biggest of thank you's to the queen of bellarke, Jules, for betaing and actually giving me a reason to write this. Go read her fics, she's [lilypottersghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypottersghost/pseuds/lilypottersghost) here and @mermaeids on tumblr and twitter.

Her leg was asleep. 

_Don’t move._

Needles pricked at every inch of her foot climbing up her ankle. 

_Don’t move._

She bit her lip and tasted blood. The pain was eating up her leg, gnawing through her skin and into every nerve. 

_Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move._

If she moved, they would hear her. If she moved, they would find her. 

If she moved, she would die. 

The pain passed eventually, fading away with the sound of the Fleimkepa’s voice. Still, she waited. Waited until the world was silent around her. 

There was a knock on the door. She jumped slightly, heart hammering in her ears. A second later, her entire body relaxed. “Nomi.” 

Her mother smiled at her, lifting her from the secret spot. Her voice was soft, as warm as her eyes as she helped her climb to her feet. “Kom ai strik natblida.” _Come, my little nightblood._

She wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs, a soft smile gracing her lips as she buried her face in the warm colors of her dress. Her mother’s hand rubbed her back gently. The fear of the fleimkepas faded away. She was safe. She was home. 

.o.

The sky was angry.

It raged, red clouds filling the horizon. Days ago, it had sent down rain that burned, and the people began to get sick. The village was afraid. Children weren’t allowed to roam anymore. 

Today the sky was roaring. 

She pushed through the crowds, air burning her lungs, her skin. Around her, people gasped for breath. Some kneeled over, coughing until their red blood spilled on the ground. 

Still, she ran, feet stumbling through the village to the edge of the wood. _Hide,_ her mother had said, holding a cloth to her mouth. She didn’t understand. Was this the fleimkipas’ fault? Were they coming to take her away again? 

Why was the air burning? 

The door to her hiding spot creaked as she opened it. Climbing inside was harder than normal. Her skin stung where the rashes were the worst. Her breaths were short and tasted like fire in her throat. The run here had drained her, sucking every ounce of life from her limbs. 

Shutting the metal door behind her, she reached for the smaller trapdoor, dropping more than climbing into the small bunker beneath the floor. She wasn’t fast enough to stop the door from slamming shut above her. The sound made her wince. She was supposed to be quiet. She had to be quiet. 

She lay down, pressing herself into the very back of the small space. There were a few cushions and blankets lying in a corner for her. Her hands shook a bit as she pulled them away from the wall.

As she tucked the blankets over her, she listened for any sign of the usual announcement. The fleimkipas always made an announcement when they came during the day. It was at night that they were silent.

There was no sound, but she wasn’t sure if it was because she was too far away from the village to hear it. Her secret spot was in the woods between the village and the lake– a place with metal walls that her mother had decorated with her, covering the windows of the little room with thick curtains and laying rugs over the hidden door in the floor. No one from the Shadow Valley ever visited it. No one but her. 

She squeezed her eyes shut. Just wait. All she had to do was wait. Wait for them to pass, wait for the special knock, wait for her mother’s arms around her again, pulling her to safety. 

Her throat ached, every breath ripping through her chest. Everyone was sick in the valley. She’d watched her mother care for her father, nursing him as his skin blistered and peeled. Neighbors weren’t coming out to play or to train. Some couldn’t get out of bed. Coughs could be heard every hour of the day. The village smelled like sickness and death. She didn’t like going outside anymore. 

Why was the sky angry? Why was everyone sick? Why was she hiding? 

_Why? Why? Why?_

The walls shook, wind screaming outside. She pulled the blankets closer. _Do not be afraid,_ her mother’s voice whispered in her head, _no harm can find you here._

No fleimkepa had ever found her here. No enemy. No danger. She was safe. She was safe. She was safe. 

Why was she shaking so badly? 

Around her, the walls groaned, rocking with the wind. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, listening, waiting. There was no way to see the sun moving. She closed her eyes, drained, and tried to slow down her shaky breaths. 

Her mother would come to get her when it was safe. 

She woke up on fire. 

Her chest was a chamber of flames. Blisters stung on her arms, her legs, blooming with a harsh pain that dug beneath her skin. How long had she been asleep? Where was her mother? 

Coughs ripped their way through her body. With shaking hands, she pushed the trapdoor open and climbed into the room above. The walls trembled and creaked, moving the structure around her. She twisted and stumbled into the wall, bringing the few decorations crashing down around her. _Too much noise._ But outside, the winds were louder. There was no other noise, no voices. 

No fleimkepas. 

Stumbling, she made her way to the small window and pushed the curtain away. Her eyes widened as she peered through the glass. The sky was red. Dark clouds and yellow lighting swirled, coming closer, closer, closer. 

She coughed again. The air was choking her. It refused her lungs and filled her nostrils with something that smelled like blood. Everything stung: her face, her lungs, her arms. Her hands trembled as she pushed the fallen trinkets out of the way. 

_Can’t breathe_. 

Another cough made her whole body lurch. She stared at the dark blood that came from her mouth. Something in her stomach squirmed. 

_Can’t breathe._

With shaking limbs, she crawled back beneath the floor, pulling the cushions to be a barrier around her. _Safe_. She would be safe. Her mother promised her she would always be safe here. 

The walls shook around her again as she trembled with another cough. She tasted the blood on her lips before her eyes shut and the roaring winds faded in her ears. 

.o.

The door creaked as she pushed it open. It sounded louder than normal, a whine cutting through the silence. The sound sent her on high alert, but there was no one around. No one came looking. She relaxed slightly. No fleimkepas. 

She stepped out, glancing around for any sign of movement. The trees were still, not a rustle among their leaves. She blinked against the sunlight, holding up a hand to block the rays. The sky was still red, but no longer raging. Instead, a large cloud seemed to be covering the sky, red and yellow, and orange painted across the horizon.

As the quiet stretched on, her heart thumped louder in her ears. 

The valley was never silent. 

Where was her mother? How long had she been asleep? She had slept overnight in her secret place before. Her mother said it was the safest place for her to be. No one would see her blood there. 

Creeping towards the village, she took deep breaths. The air still stung her throat, but she could breathe now. The blisters on her hands and neck were still painful, but they no longer burned like fire was on her skin. Her mother would be able to heal them. She would fuss about her and her father until they were both better. 

The twigs snapped beneath her feet as she walked. 

It was bright enough to be morning, but there were no hunters on their way to the woods. There were no women looking through their windows. No children trying to go outside.

The people were probably hiding after the storm. They were probably still taking shelter. Her feet turned towards the council building. People gathered there when there was an attack or storm. There was power in numbers. They were stronger together. 

She ran her fingers over the fabrics hanging from the rafters and tree limbs. There were unfinished tapestries along the path, coloring the village with reds and yellows and purples. They were one of her favorite things about home. She couldn’t wait until her mother taught her to weave thread into beauty. 

Her footsteps slowed as she got closer to the building. It was too quiet. The council building was always bustling with people. There were always voices that could be heard from the path, especially when it was full. Her lungs seemed to tighten the closer she got to it. 

There was a boy sitting on the porch. 

Under normal circumstances, she would have run to him, but something held her back. Her skin crawled at the sight of him sitting there with his back against the wall. He wasn’t moving. It didn’t look like he could see her at all. 

Her hand shook slightly as she took the first step towards the door. _Something is wrong._ She still couldn’t hear anything. The boy still didn’t move. There were rashes on his skin like hers. He didn’t look at her at all. 

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

Her feet froze on the top step, her hand slipping off the rail. The air was getting too thin. She couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was her throat that was closing, rejecting the air. 

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

With a jolt, she rushed past the unmoving boy and shoved open the door. 

_Wrong._

There were people everywhere, lying on the floor, leaning on the tables. Her stomach rolled as she looked around. She’d seen a few people like this before, when her mother helped care for the sick. There were always some that didn’t get better. 

Her eyes stung. She wiped at them with trembling fingers. People she knew were all around her. With every step she shook more, her skin crawling. She couldn’t stop her eyes from looking at each one. 

When she reached the middle of the room, she froze, every inch of her skin turning to ice. They were lying side by side, facing each other, eyes closed and hands joined. 

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

She didn’t remember falling, but now she was crawling. There was a new fire in her throat, one that burned so much worse than before. Tears stung her eyes as she reached out, touching their joined hands. Her skin brushed their cold fingers. They didn’t move. _Wrong._

_Run._

She didn’t remember standing up. She didn’t remember the stairs. The colors along the path blurred together in her vision. Her legs shook beneath her, threatening to crumble after every step she took. Her stomach lurched, twisting and rolling itself into knots. 

The door slammed against the outside wall as she yanked it open, she didn’t bother to shut it as she crawled beneath the floor, curling into a ball on the blankets. She pulled them close around her. 

_Safe._

No danger could reach her here. Nothing could find her here. 

Her body trembled again, a sob breaking through the tangle of fear. 

_Here she was safe._

.o.

Her stomach is what made her move. It moaned and gnawed on itself until she finally opened her eyes. 

It was night, the world shrouded in shadow. There was still no sound, making her eyes water again. She would have to get used to the silence. 

Sitting up, she wiped her face, sticky and stinging. Her fingers were numb. She didn’t want to move. 

Her stomach moaned again. 

Slowly, she climbed out of her bunker and looked around. The valley was different after sunset. Normally, there would be fireflies floating around, the sound of crickets ringing through the night. 

Now there was only an empty darkness.

Her feet stumbled every few steps as she made her way through the village. She didn’t care, keeping her eyes half-closed. She didn’t want to see the empty houses, the lack of firelight in the windows. 

She didn’t allow herself to look around the empty house as she went towards the storage bunker. Berries scattered across the floor as she opened the sack, scooping them straight into her mouth. 

_Careful,_ her mother’s voice chided in her ear. _Clean them up._

For a moment, she tensed, waiting for the rest of the lecture. But the silence stretched on, swallowing her whole. Her eyes watered as she bent down, gathering the berries into a pile. The moonlight cast dim shadows around her; but the darkness felt natural. After all, it was gnawing at her from the inside. Even moving the berries seemed to drain the life from her.

Stiffly, she walked to the bed against the wall, lying down with her back to the berries still on the floor. 

She was alone. 

They could stay there forever, just like her. 

.o.

Her father taught her to fish. 

When she was barely old enough to speak, she would walk with him to the shore and watch as he sharpened his spear. Blinking against the reflected sunlight, alone, the rhythmic sound of it still echoed in her ears. It went with the rippling water like the crickets’ chirp went with the night. 

There was a hollowness spreading through her as she stared out at the water. She could see the fish’s movements beneath the surface, shadows flickering in small, rapid movements. Everything looked exactly the same. Calm. Quiet. Gently flowing as if nothing had changed. 

Her grip tightened on her father’s spear. 

The fish didn’t know the world had ended. 

In her younger years, her father would allow her to throw the bait into the lake. They would sit on the rocks and wait in silence for the fish to come, side by side. As the fish began to appear, shadows beneath the surface, her father would stand, raise his arm, and send the spear into the water with a movement so sharp it would make her jump. 

As she grew, so did her job. Her father would ask her to help clean the fish, to sharpen the spear, until he finally handed it to her one day. _Learn to fish,_ he told her, _learn to hunt, learn to fight, and I will never worry for you._

He couldn’t worry for her now.

The spear broke the surface of the water with a dull splash. There once had been a time when she felt bad for the fish they caught, in those brief moments while they flopped and struggled before finally falling limp on the end of the spear. She would always look away.

She didn’t feel much of anything anymore. 

Methodically, she brought the fish out of the water and knelt on the shore. This was her routine. Sleep. Fish. Walk. Eat. Avoid the village at all costs. Repeat. She’d lost track of the number of days it’d been since she’d woken up alone. A part of her didn’t want to know. Nothing felt quite as real in this timeless loop. There was only her, a sun that stretched slowly across the horizon, and a moon that winked at her a little more every night. 

The first few days she’d laid traps in the trees, found the berry patches, ensured she had everything she needed to live away from the village. 

She worked in silence, listening to the water fill the empty air. Her knife cut with sure strokes as she cleaned out her catch, careful not to prick a finger. Not that it mattered anymore. 

The thought made her pause, eyes flickering to the knife in her hand. _Be careful playing with the other children. Do not climb the trees, you could scrape yourself. Do not handle blades in public._ Blinking, she shook her head slightly, trying to turn her attention to the fish again. But her mind kept repeating the same lectures she’d heard all her life, an echochamber of warnings no longer needed. 

How many times had she wished to not have to hide what she was? Her eyes flickered back to the blade as she considered the cruelty of the situation. For once in her life, she didn’t have to hide her blood. 

There was no one left to hide from. 

.o.

Something was different. 

She couldn’t place it. The forest never stayed exactly the same, always growing, living, changing slowly around her. There were new plants and abandoned nests and an ever-present rustling of leaves where animals roamed. 

This was different. 

There was something alien about the path. No animal made these kinds of patterns. Leaves didn’t break on their own. The ground was disurbed. Her hand gripped her spear tighter. Something had come this way before her. 

With slow footsteps, she followed the trail leading towards the lake. Something had moved towards her water source, towards her food, towards her survival. There was something stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow it down. Her teeth barred, an instinct she hadn’t felt before. 

The lake was _hers._

A splash broke her train of thought, startling her as if she were the one wet. The urge inside her quieted down as she crept the last few paces to see what had intruded on her lake. 

Or _who._

The thought occurred to her at the same moment her eyes landed on the lake, rippling and bubbling as something moved below the surface. Her heart fell through to her stomach. A pack. A staff. Clothes, shoes, _weapon._

A head broke the surface of the water as she pulled back, a more familiar instinct taking over her body. 

_Hide._

Through the brush, she could see the stranger climbing out of the water and making her way back towards the supplies on the surface. 

_Hide._

She was running before the stranger had both shoes on. 

Stranger. 

_Human._

The village was dead. She was alone.

Things she knew repeated in her mind as she scrambled through the trees, running to the place she knew was safe. 

The village was dead. She was alone. No one from other clans had come. 

_Pack. Clothes, shoes, weapon._

The door creaked as she opened it. Familiarity and fear welcomed her as she buried herself.

_Hide._

Fleimkepas came by surprise. 

If they found her, she would die.

.o.

The fleimkepas had been coming as long as she could remember. 

“We must keep you a secret,” her mother whispered, wrapping her knee in bandage cloth. The thick fabric looped around once, twice, again and again. She couldn’t bend her leg. 

But you couldn’t see the dark blood seeping through the cloth. 

“The fleimkepas will take you away if they find you, if they find out what you are.” Her mother tied the wrap and pulled away. “I won’t let them take you,” she said as she pulled out a blade. 

Outside, she could hear the announcement, the people gathering in the village to listen to the fleimkepa’s voice. They were looking for natblidas. They were always looking for natblidas. 

Fleimkepas came by surprise. 

The blade flickered as her mother held it in the flames for a moment. 

She shut her eyes when her mother pressed the blade just above her elbow. A moment later, she felt the warmth of her mother’s hand on her knee. Blood smeared seeped into the cloth, not much, but enough to see. 

Red.

Her mother wrapped a bandage around her arm, her voice overlapping the call of the fleimkepas. “You will not be another one of their Commanders.” 

Her throat was tight as she nodded. Her nails bit into her palms. 

She would not go with any fleimkepa. 

.o.

The stranger was in the village.

Moonlight was not enough to see details. But the fire was too bright to ignore. She could see the smoke rising from the trees. Her throat burned as she watched this stranger enter the buildings one at a time. 

She entered the council building many times. 

The stranger knelt by every body she retrieved. After a few times, it was easy to recognize the words on the strangers lips. _Yu gonplei ste odon._

Her eyes stung from the smoke. 

.o.

The fleimkepa would not leave. 

The people were dead. The dead were gone. There was nothing more for the stranger to do; there was nothing more for the stranger to find. 

Nothing but her. 

Her nails bit into her palms as she watched the stranger roam and pluck the berries from their patches. Anger rose in the back of her throat. They did not belong to this intruder. This was _her_ home. She would not surrender it. 

This morning she had to hide until the stranger left the lake. 

She did not want to hide anymore. 

Now, she watched as the stranger pressed a strange device to her lips. Lips stained with juice from stolen berries. 

She hated hiding. 

Her knife was cold against her hand. She placed it back into her belt. 

She hated this intruder. 

It only took a minute for the stranger to freeze, the hand holding the device lowering slowly. She took a step back as the stranger stood, her heartbeat caught in her throat. The stranger raised her hand. Words that meant nothing floated across the air, barely audible. It didn’t matter what they meant. She knew that fleimkepas spoke more than her language.

She swallowed a breath, then turned and ran. 

No more hiding. 

_Keep running._

She could hear the stranger following her, but the intruder did not move like a hunter. There were a few more words that meant nothing. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. 

“ _Beja!”_

Her feet stuttered, her own language catching her by surprise. She hadn’t heard another voice speak her language in so long.

She ran faster. 

“I just want to talk to you.” This time, she understood all the stranger’s words. 

She broke into the brush, finally stopping. Her legs burned. The stranger was not far behind. She crouched down and waited for the stranger’s footsteps to come closer. 

She watched as the fleimkepa’s eyes moved back and forth, looking for her. 

_No more hiding._

Her hand made sure her blade was secure on her belt before she stood up. She blinked a few times, trying not to growl. Her father’s voice was in her head. _Being underestimated, that is your greatest weapon._

With a cautious step, she climbed out of the bushes. 

The stranger had her arms up again, those nothing words coming from her mouth. 

She turned and ran again. _Just a little further._

The stranger called after her with more of those nonsense words dripping from her mouth. It didn’t matter what the words meant. She didn’t care what the words meant. The stranger was almost there. 

But the stranger didn’t move. 

Instead, she spoke in her language again instead of the nonsense one. “You’re a nightblood, right?” 

The words cut her face, exposed her bare in front of the Fleimkepa. The stranger knew. How did the stranger know? She must have done something wrong. Fear clawed its way up her chest, her throat. 

She would not go with a Fleimkepa. 

One step. Two. 

The stranger screamed. Metal clamped onto her leg, digging deep into the flesh. 

In a second, she had grabbed the knife from her belt, a war-cry on her lips. She took three steps and jumped, tackling the stranger to the ground and trying to pin her arms down with her legs. It didn’t work. 

“Die fleimkepa!” She aimed for the throat, but the fleimkepa moved, struggling to remove her. The stranger screamed again, and she felt her knife sink into flesh. But not enough. 

The stranger was still moving when she pulled back, blood staining her knife. 

Black blood. 

She pulled back, stumbling away from the stranger. 

“ _Natblida…”_

Not a fleimkepa. 

Her hands shook as she ran. When she was far enough, nearly to her hiding spot, she looked down at the knife again. The blood was drying on her blade, as black as her own. 

The stranger was a nightblood. The stranger was like her. 

_Heda?_

No. Of that she was certain. The stranger was no Commander. 

_Nightblood._

The screams had faded when she got further away, but they still echoed in her ears. Maybe the stranger would not get out. Her hands stopped shaking. 

No, the stranger would get out. But she would need to be ready when she did. The stranger was like her. The other nightbloods were trained to fight. They were trained to kill one another, which meant the stranger would try to kill her. 

She had to be ready. 

.o.

The stranger had gotten out. 

Nightfall was coming, closing in around her and coating the valley in darkness. She followed the trail of blood back to the village. There weren’t any more screams. It had been a few hours since the trap. 

It wasn’t difficult to find out where the stranger was. She’d spied enough on the stranger to know which building had been claimed. The windows were dark, but she could just make out the stranger’s form on a table. It was quiet. She waited for a while, but the other nightblood didn’t move. 

She waited a bit longer before carefully opening the door, her feet silent against the wood floorboards. Her heart pounded in her ears. The knife in her hand was little comfort as she watched the stranger’s shoulders shift with every breath. Slowly, carefully, she made her way around the table. 

The nightblood was asleep. She could see the blood pooled on the table; it stained the stranger’s hands. The wound was closed, skin sewn together like the fabric stitching her mother would do. 

Her grip tightened on her knife as her eyes flickered back to the stranger’s face. The blonde hair was messy like her own, skin smudged with dirt and scars and blood. The stranger did not look old. She looked like the young warriors from her clan. But the clothes the stranger wore were nothing like her clan. She eyed the clothes, the equipment around the stranger. It was all different. No clan she knew dressed like this. 

Not that it mattered. The stranger was a nightblood. Nightbloods were trained to kill each other for the Flame. Only the strongest ones survived. 

She would be the stronger one. 

Her knife was cold in her hand. Just hours ago she had sunk it into the stranger’s shoulder. This time she would only have one chance. 

Her eyes flickered over the strangers face again, and she frowned. Dark shadows rimmed the strangers face, burn marks like her own, bleeding black. Images of the bodies lying across the council building floor flashed before her eyes. She swallowed down the sourness in her throat. 

On the table, the stranger shifted. She stepped back quickly, heart dropping to her stomach. But the stranger was still asleep. She listened as the stranger’s breaths evened out again. Her fingers tightened around her knife again as she stepped forward. 

_Yu gonplei ste odon._

The stranger had burned the bodies.

She paused, inches away from the stranger’s unconscious form. Her hand shook slightly and she grimaced. There should be no hesitation. She should do this. The stranger would kill her. 

She wasn’t alone anymore. 

_I just want to talk to you._

A lie. It had to be a lie. A trap just like the one she’d laid for the stranger. She looked down at her knife, the metal suddenly feeling small in her palm. The stranger’s breathing was changing. Sleep didn’t last forever. 

Her mother never wanted her to be a killer. She hid so she wouldn’t be taken away to fight and to train and to kill. But that didn’t matter now. Now there was no one but her and the nightblood sleeping. 

She looked from the stranger’s face to the pack, the supplies scattered around the table. Things with sharp points and blood drying on them. Anything could be a weapon. Carefully, she reached over and lifted the pack of supplies off the table. 

Her eyes caught on the weapon attached to the stranger’s leg. This was something she knew, the weapons that echoed loud and killed instantly. It slid out of the sheath, the metal heavy in her hand. 

The stranger shifted slightly. 

Swallowing hard, she tucked the weapon and other items to her chest. When she was done, there was nothing remaining around the stranger. Nothing that could be used against her. There was no room for a mistake. 

She wouldn’t kill the stranger. Not yet. 

She was out the door before the stranger woke up. Through the window, she watched as the nightblood sat up, looking around, hands reaching for supplies that weren’t there. Her eyes met the strangers through the window for a moment. She watched as the stranger’s hand moved to the sheath on her leg. 

When the stranger looked back at her, there was fear in her eyes. 

Her hiding place felt smaller somehow, like it couldn’t hold all of her. She felt exposed. Shadows and sounds made her jump as her imagination fed her paranoia. The night seemed to laugh at her fear and she hated it. She hated being afraid. The stranger’s supplies stared at her from the other side of her nook. 

The stranger was injured and unarmed. For now, she was safe. No one would be coming for her. 

She didn’t sleep that night.

.o.

The fish didn’t know a stranger had come. 

She allowed herself to be calm while watching the small animals in the water. They didn’t know everything was different. They didn’t know she wasn’t alone.

She wasn’t alone. That thought was something she’d avoided at all costs. 

The stranger couldn’t be trusted. The stranger was an enemy. 

The stranger was like her. 

_I just want to talk to you._

She played over the words in her mind again and again. She knew it would be foolish to believe them. Another nightblood was something to be feared. She knew what would happen if they found her. 

But there was no one else to find her. There was only her… and the stranger with no weapons, no food, and an injured leg. She’d watched. The stranger talked to someone every day, but there was no answer. No one came. There was no one to take her away. 

Was the stranger lonely too? 

She stood, letting her eyes follow the flickering patterns the fish made in the water. 

This nightblood was already an adult. Maybe she didn’t want to kill her. Maybe it wasn’t all lies. 

Hunger clawed at her stomach, not satisfied with the berries she’d gathered. She shook her head a little, focusing on the fish circling below her. The stranger had distracted her for too long. Her spear was sharp as she waited. 

_Patience._

It was becoming harder to hear her father’s voice. But here, when it was quiet, when the fish who didn’t know the world had ended circled around her, it was a little easier. 

The fish’s patterns stopped when her spear broke the surface of the water. The creature struggled for a moment. _Good work._ Her father’s voice was proud. 

His voice came to her when she was fishing, hunting. She clung to it, not wanting it to fade like her mother’s was starting to. She wished she could find a way to hear her mother’s voice again.

“Can you teach me that?” 

A gasp left her lips as she turned. The stranger was behind her among the rocks, leaning against a staff. 

She felt her heartbeat quicken as she turned, careful not to drop her catch. 

“Wait!”

The stranger called after her. She headed up into the rocks, leaving the stranger standing in the river. She would have to wait until the stranger left to finish catching. 

“Give me back my things!” 

She crossed over the hill and pressed her back against a tree. Her thoughts trailed back to the pile of supplies she’d left beneath a tarp as she caught her breath. There was no way for the stranger to follow her up the hill. 

She just had to wait. 

The stranger didn’t leave. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but she’d watched the sun climb across the sky as her fish cooked. Every time she peeked through the trees, there was the stranger, sitting with her leg propped up and something in her lap. Occasionally, the stranger would pause, and she would duck behind the trees. 

She watched the other nightblood with curiosity. Every question peeking its head out through the trees alongside her. 

As the stranger sat, foot in the water, eyes roaming around, there was nothing truly intimidating about her. There were no new weapons. The stranger did not look like a hunter. 

She wasn’t sure how long it was before the stranger moved, taking her leg out of the water and pulling her bag over. There were small things inside. A pouch of berries. That same black square of metal. A pad of paper. Lumps of something that the stranger picked up and dragged over the faded paper a few times before setting it aside. 

The stranger picked up the device and adjusted a few knobs before bringing the square piece to her mouth. The other nightblood spoke that other language again. The one that sounded like nonsense. The one that sounded like violence. The one that the warriors knew and spoke. 

There, sitting alone, the stranger did not look dangerous. 

She looked sad. 

Eventually, the stranger set aside the metal and took up the pad again. 

It was interesting, sitting there in the trees and watching the stranger drawing. It was something so normal. Something she hadn’t seen anyone do in a long time. She sometimes would do it on days her mother kept her inside. When she was alone and hiding or simply waiting. 

She wondered if the other nightblood was waiting. 

The sun had moved halfway across the sky when the stranger finally stood, still braced against the staff, and crept back up the path towards the village. 

There was something left on the rocks. 

She waited, making sure the stranger was truly gone before walking over and examining the paper left behind. 

The charcoal was smeared and rough, smudging at the edges of the yellowed paper. But the image was clear. 

The message was clear. 

Something shaped like hope blossomed in her chest and crawled down her arms. 

She smiled as she looked at the picture of herself. 

  
.o.  
  


**End of Part One**

**Author's Note:**

> Part two will be Clarke's pov. 
> 
> For updates on my projects, I'm @faeriefully on [twitter](https://twitter.com/faeriefully/) and [tumblr](https://faeriefully.tumblr.com).


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